A Lovely, Ruined Afternoon
by A Vampires Butterfly
Summary: He had told him he didn't want visitors...He didn't have time for his childishness.


"Arthur…"

A hand flicked the tightly held newspaper, snapping the thin paper and forcing it stand taller.

"Arthur…? Did you hear me?"

Fingers tightened slightly on the inked pages and a blond head stayed firmly behind the wall of news.

"Arthur? Are you trying to ignore me?"

A huff of annoyance and poor, defenseless newspaper was tightly rolled up and used to smack the man currently crouching in front of him. Arthur sat unimpressed in his chair as Alfred fell on his butt, clutching at his nose rather pathetically.

"Ow! Damn it! That hurt!" Alfred whined at him, the words muffled from his hands rubbing at his red nose. Arthur went back to blissfully ignoring him, taking a sip from his nearby tea cup. It had gone lukewarm, but wasn't too bad. Better than having to bother with Alfred without any tea at all.

"Here I am, offering to talk to ya and all you can do is hit me like I'm some dog!" Alfred accused from his position on the floor, looking, in fact, very much like a reprimanded dog. Arthur was annoyed to hear the words he had so carefully taught the youth get slurred and shortened. It seemed like every time he talked to Alfred, the more butchered the language sounded.

"If you remember, which I doubt you do, I told you very clearly that I did not want company today." He tried to explain this calmly, but the very recent memory of him telling the ex-colony the exact same thing just yesterday made his words come out with a tense edge to them.

"But I thought that was your way of telling me to come over." Arthur pinched his nose, looking back at Alfred looked at him, eyes squinted behind his glasses, mouth pinched…He was truly baffled, wasn't he?

"It was my way of telling you I wanted to spend the day alone. By myself. With no visitors." He stated as bluntly and clearly as he possibly could. In truth, really…Arthur wanted nothing at all to do with the pipsqueak in front of him. He even thought that Francis would be better company then the poor excuse for a country currently sitting at his feet.

His own country was at war, fighting off the Germans and yet Alfred, still a mere _child, _had the nerve, the gull, to lecture him and the rest of the Allies.

He had given him a note, of all things, telling him that he was looking forward the end of the war, subtle as ever in his attempts to tell him that Alfred and his boss wanted the war to be over. The war he was not even in! No, instead Alfred and…oh what was his name…Wilson, yes. Alfred and his weak willed boss, Wilson, kept their safety blanket of neutrality. They clung to it, hiding, only peeking out to tut and tsk at the true countries.

Normally, Arthur could have some admiration towards countries that chose to remain neutral. They usually suffered anyway and he was always there to save them. The great Britain empire was a thing to be admired and the neutral countries were thankful towards him and his efforts in protecting them against Ludwig.

"Look. I know you're kind of annoyed or something. But my guy, Wilson, really has some good ideas and I think it's good for me to stick with 'em! If you'd just listen…"

Oh but Alfred. America was not a country to be admired for its neutrality. The other countries sometimes talked of it, saying how it was very courteous of America to set a good example and stay out of what was being called The Great War, despite the country's large size. And yet, even with his supposed 'neutrality' Alfred babbled at his feet, trying to explain how everyone was wrong and he and this Wilson were correct.

Could he really have cared for this whelp? He had had so much potential when they had found him…Arthur raised a disapproving eyebrow at the youth on the floor and gave a small shake of his head. Now look at him. Believing that this National League would save them all and that if "they could all just work _harder_", not fighting and yet thinking he had a say in a war he wasn't suffering through, daring to interrupt Arthur, even when he had told the moron that he didn't want to see him.

"Just when are you going to grow up, Alfred."

It wasn't a question. Alfred flinched away from him, as if his mere words had stung him, and widened blue eyes stared up. Arthur could see his reflection in them and looked at that, ignoring the hurt and betrayal in favor of his own calm and collected image.

The ticking of the grandfather clock echoed loudly in the cold, quiet room. Alfred looked as if he was going to say something. Arthur simply tilted his head, narrowed eyes examining the mere boy. Was he going to actually answer? Protest perhaps? But no, the opened mouth closed with a small _snap_.

A sigh escaped him and the gentle clatter of his tea cup was comforting. Taking a sip, he ignored Alfred again. Just when would Alfred become like the rest of them? It seemed his ex-colony was always a word away from saying something stupid, a step away from doing something idiotic, a look away from seeing too much and yet he still didn't understand how anything worked. Had he not taught the boy well enough? Or had Alfred simply forgotten it in the midst of his little rebellion?

"I'm not quite sure why you are here or what you think I'm going to say to your preaching, but really…It doesn't matter." He just barely bit back the '_You_ don't matter' he was tempted to add. Instead, he crossed his legs, bringing the curve of his tea cup to his lips.

"It does matter."

He paused and eyed Alfred. Really, the boy was much too tall. Too young to be so tall. Even on his knees, he was too tall. A little quirk came to his lips as the phrase 'cut him down to size' came to mind. If Alfred was talking back to him, telling him that almost desperate, small voice that he was wrong, then perhaps he really needed to be cut down to a proper size.

Arthur set his cup down carefully. He could feel Alfred watching him. The boy usually had no sense for atmosphere and this moment was no exception. Really. Questioning the most dominant power in the world? Had Alfred ever received brains? No, just height, it seemed. Arthur took in the glaring blue eyes, noted the stiff shoulders, the clenched fists, the tense jaw…For a neutral country, Alfred seemed very ready to fight.

With careful ease, the leg he had crossed jerked up and slammed itself into the side of Alfred's head. He caught the sight of blue eyes widened and then closing right before the impact and he had to admit…It felt good to finally strike the idiot.

Alfred crashed back to his carpeted floor with a thump, this time falling to his side. Arthur was somewhat surprised that the boy made no noise. Usually the moron couldn't keep his mouth shut…Perhaps he was trying to be a martyr. Getting hit by mean England, poor America. Arthur sneered and shook his head, hands smoothing the crinkled paper that sat in his lap. If he wanted to be grown up, he would have to learn how to take a hit.

"You have no idea what you are babbling about. You don't know suffering and you don't know war. You know _nothing_." He said it with carefully measured precision and watched with detached interest as America tensed and curled as each word hit him.

"I'm not a child!" Alfred shot up, slamming a fist down on the carpet, trying to demand his attention. Arthur felt a twinge of pity as he saw those angry blue eyes were wet. Not a child and yet close to tears? Liar, liar. The scene in front of him was covered as he made of point of raising his newspaper again.

"Talk to me when you know your place, at least." He dismissed, tone light. A hand reached for his nearly empty tea cup, but it was snatched away from him. The newspaper drooped and he watched as a red faced America clutched the stolen tea cup and scrambled onto long legs.

"I'm going to show you! I am an adult now and…and…" Alfred caught his breath before hurling the fragile tea cup into the wall, the flowered shards bursting and falling to the carpet with the tinkling of glass, the remaining tea leaving a blotch on the cream wall.

"Oh yes. Very mature, Alfred. Always so fond of hurting my beverages." He mocked, hands tightening and tearing the article he had been trying so hard to read. Now he would have to clean that up. Just like Alfred to leave a mess when trying to make a point.

"You're going to need me, Arthur. I'm going to be the greatest nation and one day you're going to _need me_ to help you." The little speech was ruined as Alfred wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his disgusting jacket. Arthur rolled his eyes and made a small humming noise, as if humoring the ridiculous notion.

America was nothing without England, even with his so called independence. The boy still looked for his approval, still sought him out when he was in need of coddling. If he could do nothing but hide behind neutrality, preach for the fantasy of peace, and cry when hit, then Arthur expected nothing good would come in the future of his young ex-colony.

Alfred made a tiny huffing noise, somewhere between a gasp and cough, and Arthur wondered idly if the idiot would actually try to punch him. But no, Alfred simply glared at him, trying now to hide those pride hurting tears. Arthur raised an eyebrow, silently asking if that was all.

The stomping of boots and the slamming of his study door was his answer.

"I told him not to come…" he muttered to himself, picking up his newspaper he had picked up in the morning, in apparently vain hope that he could enjoy it in the afternoon.

A questing hand moved towards the table beside his chair and he sighed as he met nothing but air, eyes glancing over to the mess of his destroyed teacup. He gave up on his newspaper and stood up, leaving the paper in his place, and went to make himself more tea.

The date of April fifth, 1917 that read across the top of the deserted paper meant absolutely nothing to him.

"Damn that child…"

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Hi there! A Vampire's Butterfly here! If you go to the given link, in the comment's, you will find the article that inspired this story. It really helps with getting a better understanding of this story. Or at least the first three pages of it. .com/art/A-Lovely-Ruined-Afternoon-154886201 I blame it solely for this fic's creation. Also. There needs to be way more 'Arthur is a big meanie head!' fanfics out there. Him being a crying uke or the straight edge to Alfred's wonderfulness is all well and good…But we gotta remember he's a big meanie head!

And that's all I got. With much love, A Vampires Butterfly ^.^


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